


Occupation

by missbeizy



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2004 Lotrips zine "Lotripping".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupation

Hours before Sean has to leave for the airport, he offers to put up the light fixture. He executes this chore with careful preparation; gathering all his tools before-hand, making sure Elijah's step ladder isn't as vintage as his infamous jacket is, and getting Elijah himself to steady the ladder and hand Sean everything he needs. 

Elijah watches with a fascinated kind of curiosity. This is Sean in a nutshell, and Elijah seems to be all about that lately. He loves the fact that there are entire chunks of Sean that are nothing at all like himself. Elijah can study every inch of them without involving a single thought of himself, can wander those unfamiliar territories until they're plotted on his psychological map of Sean. Stick a flag in, he thinks. Mine, he thinks, but would never admit it.

And it's not even that bad saying goodbye. Sean's cheek turns at the last second, catching the kiss that was aimed for his lips. 

Even that's okay, once Elijah ignores the ache. 

_They'd come across the light fixture while wandering the Lower East Side. The streets there alternated between very fancy and very simple, forming a rather odd but comfortable patchwork of shopping opportunities. Sean had been bugging Elijah about getting his apartment furnished for weeks. He'd stopped and dragged Elijah over to the table. Squinting over the glare the noonday sun flashed off all the glass and gold leaf painted fixtures, they'd scanned the table while the young woman hired to watch the table scanned them. After much rolling of eyes and snickering, Elijah just told Sean to pick out the one he liked the best. So Sean picked. Elijah thought about asking Sean if they should put up the fixture right away, shoving the cleaning instructions into a kitchen drawer before poking his head into the living room with that in mind. Sean was thumbing through a box next to the couch and when he sat up he had a television remote clutched in his hand and he turned, caught Elijah's eye, and smiled._

 

*

 

The first thing Sean comments on is the rug. He's so glad it matches the carpet, explaining that they'd bought it on sheer memory and hadn't been sure about it being the right shade. Of course it is, Elijah replies. It's always the right shade.

It takes several hours to melt away the months he and Sean have spent apart, but a six-pack, some good Thai food, and conversation that revolves around nothing but New Zealand memories does the trick. 

When they're good and buzzed, Sean goes over to the rug and admires it further, eventually sitting on it, which makes Elijah giggle insanely. Sean doesn't hold his liquor very well. It's sort of pathetic. He joins Sean on the rug, draping himself over Sean's lap, and suddenly has fingers in his hair. He loves this. The beer makes it easy to say so. And when he does, Sean smiles, and cradles Elijah's head in his lap. 

Elijah memorizes the pattern of carpet fiber, falling into a drowsy silence. He peeks up, and Sean's face is a blur.

_The rug had been a housewarming present from Sean and Christine. Elijah got it Federal Express exactly two months after he moved in. He saw the address, bearing both their names, and knew immediately that no matter what the contents, his stomach would be tense all day simply because of the label on the outside. It wasn't until Hannah propped her feet on it and asked him why the hell he hadn't opened it yet or called to thank the Astins for the gift that Elijah decided it was best to get it over-with. He promised her he would. Later that evening he unrolled the plain-colored and perfectly simple length of woven fabric. His hands smoothed the attached letter, scanning its contents before reading it. He absorbed very little. Didn't matter. Once the rug was in place, he quickly disposed of the box—address label never in sight—and tucked the letter under stacks of take-away menus and business cards. Days passed and, rather than please him, the fact that the rug's color so exactly matched his curtains began to rub him the wrong way._

 

*

 

After the awards dinner, cold and tired, they steal back to his apartment. Strange to get away from the crowds that fast. But then it is winter, and the freezing wind seems to trap itself between the tall buildings and down the square streets of Manhattan, driving everyone home early. 

Sean sits in one armchair and Elijah sits in the other, sunglasses (unnecessary but habitual), hats, and gloves piled on the end table between them. Elijah reaches and fusses with the pile, pairing the gloves and folding the scarves one atop the other before Sean interrupts the motion and steals his fingers. Elijah watches in quiet detachment as Sean spreads his fingers and begins to rub the warmth of the room back into them. When they're red and no longer cold to the touch Sean spreads his own between them, and Elijah firms his grip in reply. 

Sean says in a soft tone that he's missed Elijah very much. Sean asks Elijah if he thinks this time apart is at all easy for him. Elijah replies that he doesn't think so at all, and goes on to add that he knows Sean still doesn't understand exactly why he needed to move out here—and doesn't expect him to.

And then, knowing it's a mistake, and in response to his own desperation, Elijah slides out of his own chair and into Sean's, first tangling their free hands and then their bodies.

_The twin squashy armchairs and end table had come together—a part of his Christmas gift. He managed to get them out of their boxes without flinching. They sat in a heap of parts, tiny bag of screws and nuts atop the pile, in the corner where they would presumably go once they were properly built. One evening Dom asked him why he hadn't put them together. Elijah shrugged off the question and thought about the Christmas card that came with it, chock full of 'they' and 'we', and ultimately stuffed the letter away. But Dom wouldn't leave him alone. He thought it was rather stupid of Elijah, truth be told, since the chairs and the table would do the place a lot of good. So he put the pieces together himself and Elijah watched, silently grateful._

 

*

 

It's nice under the complicated tangle of the blanket. Nice to be giggling and pretending to put up a struggle. Sean's stronger arms work up to an inevitable pinning of Elijah's body underneath his. They are a contained flurry of heat and playful maneuvering. Under this tent of blanket, spots of light filter through the gaps between the rows of yarn to dance over them. When these points of brightness go still and Elijah fingers are full of Sean's hair and his mouth is full of Sean's tongue, the heat settles like dust and then drips like water right down his belly. 

Decentralized arousal makes Elijah feverish. It's so hot under the blanket. So cut off from the world that he can manage the 'living in the moment' thing he's been trying so hard to get a hold of ever since Sean's visits have become frequent. Ever since he's had—well, this. This. God, this, he thinks, and then doesn't think, because Sean's hand is rubbing his cock, because, who cares. 

Still, it burns. The hurt bleeds through his skin like ink, marking him. But the key, as he's learned, is to dilute the pain with pleasure until neither can be felt.

_The crocheted throw blanket was a combination of Christine and Alexandra's effort, though the hasty crayon scribbling in Alex's birthday card claimed full and proud credit for it. This made Elijah smile. Made him picture her wispy dirty-blonde braids and her face with all its tiny, excited parts—the exact likeness of Sean's. Christine's card, much more mature and covered in slanted, feminine script that scrawled almost computer font-like from the very top to the very bottom, explained that they thought Elijah needed something more homey in his place and, since Alex had taken up crocheting, the blanket had come to mind right away. Sean's card, however, covered in chicken scratch that Elijah could read without a second glance by now, contained a few short words and the receipt for a plane ticket. After a brief spat of hesitation over Sean's hasty decision to fly out, Elijah tossed the cards in with the rest of his papers. The phone was a tempting option in the days that followed. It wouldn't have taken more than a five-minute conversation to figure out Sean's state of mind. Elijah put it on his mental list of things to take care of, but it never crept anywhere nearer to the top._

 

*

 

Elijah maneuvers his beer bottle under the cap remover Krazy-glued to the wall behind the kitchen table. Quite eager to show it off, he waggles his eyebrows in its direction. Sean just laughs, shakes his head, and then uses it himself, minus the fanfare. When Elijah moves to sit back down, Sean catches the back of his sweater and gently tugs. Smiling, Elijah situates himself over Sean's thigh, sitting. He sinks into the sudden warmth of breath and lips below his ear.

They talk quietly about flying back to LA for the awards ceremonies coming up. Sean fills Elijah in about a condo near the Bay he's thinking about renting. Elijah wonders if there's a hint buried somewhere in there, but chooses not burden himself with the task of searching for it.

A bit later, when his legs are starting to go numb from the uncomfortable position, Elijah interrupts what has become a decidedly one-sided conversation about Christine. Tells Sean that maybe they should just not go there, that Elijah really doesn't know what to say when Sean says anything about Christine or the—

He and Sean separate. Full of huffy silence they move around the kitchen, disposing of their beer bottles. Elijah keeps his back to Sean and only notices that his magnetic poetry has been messed with when Sean has left the room and he, Elijah, has turned to listen to the retreating footsteps. He sees it then. In the very center of the left door of the refrigerator, neatly written in squares of black and white: "IM SORRY" 

Eyes burning, Elijah leaves the kitchen to find him.

_The set of magnetic refrigerator poetry was bought at an airport souvenir shop. As soon as Sean touched down at JFK International he called Elijah. There was a delay with the baggage, he explained, which gave him time to wander around and grab a bottle of juice and a magazine. The set caught his eye and he bought it without really wondering why, without telling Elijah he was buying it. He really had no intention to give the thing to Elijah, but ended up doing just that. Once it was set up in the kitchen, Elijah jammed the instruction booklet in with his mess of papers. In the time it took for Sean to settle in, the refrigerator doors were covered in semi-pornographic limericks and poems. Sean considered spelling out something dramatically sentimental just to piss Elijah off, but got so caught up in laughing at a particularly dirty haiku that it slipped his mind._

 

*

 

The shower curtain may come off its braces. They just may fall on their asses, because shower sex is one of the most impossible things to do. And the odds are really against you when your shower is built for one and you've made the mistake of getting soaped up first. But Sean's in a good place with his weight, finally; isn't automatically saying no when Elijah suggests they shower together just for the novelty. Because they can. So he can't bring himself to complain and can't even muster up the concentration to mention that Elijah may want to put his hand somewhere besides the plastic curtain. 

Elijah is on his knees (later he'll notice the imprint of tiny rubber daisies from the bathmat speckling his kneecaps), traces of soap still clinging to his arms and fingers and chest, hair damp and plastered down by the spray. His right hand gropes along the shower curtain and his left cradles the base of Sean's erection, steadying it for thorough attention. Several tense, heated minutes later, Sean's fingers push at the back of Elijah's neck. He murmurs something about watching the curtain, and Elijah's hand begins to fly around him (shut it, Seanie), and the curtains rings continue to jangle. After Sean comes, shuddering and full of heavy silence, Elijah's hand falls, relieving the curtain of its burden.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the curtain clatters to the bathroom floor. Sean gets up just as morning light begins to break over the buildings and push through cleverly secured blinds. He finds the mess and gives the fallen tangle of plastic a quick fix. 

He hides his surprise well when Elijah thanks him for taking care of it the next morning.

_The new shower curtain was smuggled in. Sean had bought it back in California, remembering at the end of a Bed Bath & Beyond run to toss it in with the rest of the bathroom stuff. Simply because Elijah had mentioned funny black stuff growing along the edges of his shower curtain. A joke, Sean figured, but with the way Elijah kept house... Well. He packed it underneath several pairs of jogging pants, and then quietly installed it that evening, when Elijah was out at an appointment. As an afterthought, he reminded Elijah not to lose the papers it came with, prompting Elijah to store them with his pile of acquired business cards. Elijah spent the rest of the evening watching Sean check the bars on his windows, test the front door's latch, and eye the crusty build-up around the air vents with a critical glare. _

 

*

 

Elijah's pulse flips when he sees the lights on in his place. For just a brief moment, he forgets about Sean and thinks, Shit, police. And then he remembers. Grinning, he stomps out his cigarette on the stoop and makes his way through the lobby and down the hall. He pushes the door open, prepared for a blast of cool air, and frowns when it doesn't come. AC's busted. He tosses his sunglasses on the end table in the living room and then wanders past an empty kitchen to the bedroom. 

The cooler, full of ice, is propped in front of a line of fans that are buzzing on their highest setting. Sean steps out from the bathroom, towel around his hips, still beaded with cold water from the shower. Elijah mumbles a playful hello (hi, honey, I'm home) and Sean tightens the knot on his towel and explains what happened. When Sean's finished speaking, Elijah declares him irrevocably insane and falls down onto the bed, letting the chilly breeze from the fans whip his clothes. 

He looks up. The light from the hallway throws the shape of Sean's body into sharp relief. After several tense seconds and an uncomfortable adjustment of the fans, Sean turns and tells Elijah in a very soft voice that he may need a place to stay on a more permanent basis. Shit, Sean. 

The fans fill up the silence with beautifully fuzzy sound and Elijah sits up on his elbows, extending a hand.

_Sean had arrived at Elijah's place to find it empty. Not surprised, as he had a key and had told Elijah not to worry about when his flight would get in. What was unpleasant was the discovery that the air-conditioning was broken, leaving the apartment nothing more than a box of uncomfortable heat. Not exactly looking forward to a long June night without air-conditioning, Sean settled in and began to make calls; reaching about a dozen people, from the building's landlord to every tradesmen within twenty miles. All the electricians were tied up until the next morning. The landlord promised there was someone on the way. Out of options, Sean gave in. He took a cab around and bought several tabletop fans at ridiculously hiked prices and then snagged a few bags of ice, a case of bottled water, and a cheap Styrofoam cooler. Later, he tossed the receipt for the fans atop the cleaning instructions for the shower curtain and frowned at the cluttered mess. The stuffy warmth of the apartment distracted him, though, and before long he abandoned the kitchen for the bedroom. He stripped down to boxers and under-shirt and catalogued the piles of clothes and shoes and empty cigarette cartons that littered the floor and all available surfaces. Hopping across the room with a cheeseburger wrapper clinging to his foot, he switched on all the fans._

 

*

 

Life has slow moments for them, now. Moments that drip sticky and warm with the kind of drunkenness that being around each other continually brings. They don't say it because they don't have to. Elijah has never had to tell Sean anything. That's the beauty of it. And this is silly, too, laying on an armful of brochures (Catskill Mountains—fun for the whole family! and Sterling Forest—untouched beauty in the state of New York, just three hours from Manhattan and Rip Van Winkle Cabins) spread by lazy bodies that have the temporary luxury of carelessness.

Elijah squishes his cheek against a glossy snow-capped mountain and closes his eyes, absorbing the feel of Sean just inches from his side. When he opens his eyes, he catches Sean staring and slips a sock-covered foot between Sean's calves, inching closer. He goes still and Sean smiles. Elijah casually suggests they add this bunch to the rest. Sean shrugs, tenting a cabin brochure over his hip (maybe later).

Fair enough, Elijah thinks, scooting closer to a band of sunlight that has fallen across the shiny paper and across Sean's eyes, lighting the green translucent.

_All it had taken was a suggestion from Elijah that they spend the last month of summer in upstate New York. Get away from all the bullshit and the appointments. After flinching only slightly as he wiped his schedule clean, Sean rose to the idea with fervor. So Elijah sat back and watched with tender amusement as his apartment began to look more like a Travel Agency than a residence. Brochures piled up neatly on all surfaces. With each new idea for their destination, each resort or cluster of cabins suggested, Elijah listened and smiled and waited for Sean to crack. He knew he'd given Sean the distraction Sean needed to escape the fracturing of his life in California. He also knew that Sean would eventually stumble over the facade. What Elijah couldn't predict was when or how. Elijah came back from a museum trip with Hannah one afternoon to find Sean hovering over the drawer in the kitchen, eyes wet, silent. He felt glued to the floor; struck still by stumbling into another man's private moment. And yet it seemed to make sense—sense that the accumulated piles of paper had never offered either of them._

_They managed to sort the mess; separating everything into piles and adding in the rubber band bound stack of travel brochures. They sat under the dim aureole of light cast by the overhead lamp—the brass glow striking dull patterns into the ceiling, patterns softer than the polish of the fixture—that now seemed like it had been there forever. They remained gratefully caught together in the extension of that moment; wound up in a bond that cradled them softly, side by side._


End file.
